Summary: War's arrival changes things and Malbonte learns what happens when he lets his guard down.
The afternoon sun filtered through sparse clouds over the Academy's training grounds, casting long, golden shadows across the field. The sound of clashing power charges and heavy breaths echoed throughout the area, where young immortals were sparring. Plague had decided to prepare them for the arrival of the next Horseman, War, by having them train for battle.
Malbonte was on his way to speak with Plague, exuding a cold confidence bolstered by his secret gambit. Rivelius, the scholar he had saved and entrusted to the Order, had finally delivered on his request. Malbonte had commissioned the scholar to create a special concoction—a potent blend of his blood infused with Shephamalum's darkness and an addictive substance. The first batch, brought to him in secret by Fencio, had already been mixed into a cocktail for Plague. She was beginning to show subtle signs of dependency. It was a small but crucial piece of leverage, a means of holding some measure of control over the Horsewoman.
His thoughts, calculating and ever-vigilant, were interrupted by an unexpected, though not unwelcome, sight: Vicky sparring with Dino. Malbonte lingered, momentarily forgetting his meeting with Plague. Her movements were raw and untamed, honed through necessity rather than refined skill. Yet, under Dino's careful instruction, she was beginning to move with surprising grace. She dodged Dino's attacks with growing confidence, her footwork light and agile. Her laughter, born from sheer happiness at her own success, rang out, breaking through the heavy cloud weighing on Malbonte. His heart clenched—he had desperately missed the sound of her laughter, especially after everything she had endured lately.
He watched as Vicky spun away from another strike, her eyes bright with determination. Even without his powers, she remained immortal, and it seemed she was finally learning how to harness her own innate strength and abilities. Dino, evidently a skilled teacher, pushed her hard, but Vicky kept up, absorbing each lesson and improving with every movement.
Then she caught sight of him. Surprise flashed across her features, and the distraction proved costly. She stumbled, and Dino didn't hesitate—he swept her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling to the ground.
"Stay focused, Vicky," Dino said, his voice firm but kind. "In a real fight, a moment of distraction could be the end."
Vicky adjusted her stance, determination etched across her features, even as exhaustion tugged at her limbs. Her movements grew heavier, her breaths more labored, until Dino finally called for a break.
Malbonte continued on, feeling a quiet sense of relief for the first time in ages. Her newfound determination hadn't faded after just a few days, and it reassured him to see her actively preparing for the challenges that lay ahead.
***—***
Any relief he had felt from watching Vicky's training instantly evaporated as he entered Plague's office later that evening and heard Vicky telling her that he knew where Mammon was. He barely registered her words before he acted, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze, ignoring the silent protest in her eyes. With scant ceremony, he plunged into her mind, scanning for any trace of the Order's influence. After all, where else could she have gotten that information but from the Order? Vicky winced in pain, and though he grabbed her arm to steady her, he paid her discomfort little heed—this was too urgent for finesse.
Flashes of recent memories flickered past: Vicky in her room with friends, the failed mission on Earth, Fencio administering punishment. Malbonte's jaw clenched in fury at the sight of the angel tormenting her, but he pushed the anger aside. He found nothing—no whisper of deception and no evidence of a connection to the Order of Resistance.
Relief washed over him as he released her. His suspicions had grown ever since Eliza's visit, and he now had a strong hunch that Fencio had implanted the Stone of Secrets during Vicky's punishment. Malbonte could only hope that the stone's protection was strong enough to withstand Plague's mental assault as effectively as it had his.
"What are you doing?" demanded Plague, furious that Malbonte had acted without her approval.
"I checked, but found no trace of lies. Nothing that would be useful to us," Malbonte replied dismissively.
Plague's smile twisted as she rose from her desk. "Just look at her. There's no need to be so rough," she cooed, her sweet words dripping with menace and setting off danger bells in Malbonte's mind. "I'll look for myself."
With that, she viciously burst into Vicky's head. Vicky crumpled, blood streaking down her face from the force of Plague's assault. Malbonte silently seethed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He had known Plague wouldn't take him at his word, especially when it came to Vicky. But watching her suffer while he stood there, powerless to intervene, twisted a knife of rage and helplessness in his gut. He had scanned Vicky's mind first, hoping to discover if Plague would uncover whatever game Vicky was playing. He didn't know what he could have done to protect her if her mind had been exposed, but at the very least, he would have been prepared.
Plague finally released Vicky. She fell to her knees, breathing heavily, and wiped the blood streaming from her eyes.
"Hmm… I didn't find anything either," Plague conceded.
Malbonte could see the confusion etched across Vicky's face. She clearly didn't understand why neither he nor Plague had been able to access her memories of the Order. It dawned on him that neither Fencio nor Eliza had bothered to explain the measures they had taken to shield her mind from Plague during missions, though he had to concede that it was an extra layer of deception.
Plague noticed Vicky's bewilderment as well but, thankfully, misinterpreted it. "What's the matter, little bird? You seem confused. I hope we didn't melt your brain." She gave a cruel smile. "So, tell me, where is Mammon?"
Malbonte extended his hand to Vicky, his voice icy and unyielding. "Get up."
She let him help her up without protest, still looking a little dazed. But she recovered enough to reply, "He's often at the Metis bar in the Citadel."
"Alright. We'll find out what your information is worth." Plague paused, her gaze narrowing as she scrutinized Vicky's face. "Why would you choose to be so obedient now? Is this how Lucifer's influence affects you?"
"I want to be on the winning side," Vicky said, keeping her voice steady, though a slight tremor betrayed the nerves she struggled to conceal. "You are clearly the winner."
Vicky had struck the right note. Plague's lips curved into a satisfied smile. Vanity was one of her greatest weaknesses—she adored flattery, lapping up even the most egregious accolades like a cat with cream.
"You're right, little bird," Plague said smugly, her eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction. "You've fought so hard, but I'm glad you've finally realized the futility of it all. We're not so different—you once held power and authority. And while my power is infinitely greater than anything you could ever dream of, we still share that common ground." Plague paused, eyeing Vicky thoughtfully before adding, "I'm not sure you'll be very helpful, but who knows—maybe you'll surprise me."
"I'll do my best, mistress," said Vicky obediently, with a docile smile.
Malbonte's discomfort twisted into something heavier. This was what he had thought he wanted—Vicky's obedience, her compliance to keep her safe. But watching her bow so completely to Plague felt deeply unsettling. He knew she was only pretending, but this pretense put her in even greater peril as a spy for the Order.
When it came to Vicky's safety, every option seemed laced with danger. She would never be obedient in the way he had once envisioned. Yet now, at least, she had the protection of the stone and a determined focus, channeling her anger and frustration into something tangible. Still, the threats surrounding her remained, and Malbonte knew he had to stay vigilant.
Plague rested her chin on her clasped hands and laughed. "It's wonderful that you came to me, little bird. I'm so glad we've become friends, especially now that my brother has arrived." She turned toward the door, her voice taking on an annoyed edge. "War, I know you're there. Come in already…"
The tension in the room thickened as Plague's words hung in the air. Malbonte felt the atmosphere shift, a dark and oppressive energy seeping through the space. Vicky stiffened beside him, her gaze darting to the door.
With a creak, the door swung open, and War stepped inside. His presence was overwhelming, a tangible force of strength and strife barely restrained. His dark, muscular frame exuded power, and his golden eyes glowed with a predatory gleam that promised destruction. War's piercing gaze swept across the room, barely lingering on Vicky before meeting Malbonte's cold, calculating stare.
All the Horsemen derived their power from the specific emotions they evoked in mortals and immortals alike. Plague thrived on despair, draining the hope and spirit from those around her, while War fed on hatred, amplifying every grudge and simmering rage until it erupted like a volcano. Malbonte had long understood that War posed the greatest threat to his stability and sanity. Yet, even with that awareness, he was unprepared for the gale-force intensity of War's influence.
The moment War entered, Malbonte felt the tide of his own suppressed hatred surge, unbidden and wild, threatening to unravel his carefully guarded composure. His simmering resentment for Shephamalum, Plague, and all their ilk intensified, mushrooming into something almost uncontainable. War noticed the reaction immediately, his lips curving into a subtle, knowing smirk.
The Horseman came prepared for battle, his booming voice and formidable presence notching up the heat by several degrees. Plague, however, appeared bored and irritated by his enthusiastic calls for war and destruction. The contrast between them was palpable: where Plague thrived on manipulation and individual misery, War reveled in chaos and conflict on a large scale. Vicky, meanwhile, watched with horrified fascination, her wide eyes fixed on the Horseman. Her fear was evident, but so was her determination—a mixture of terror and resolve that Malbonte couldn't help but notice. He forced himself back into composure, swallowing the surge of rage and keeping his face carefully impassive. War's arrival marked only the second step toward the release of the Mother of Life, but with it came an undeniable escalation in danger. The stakes had risen, and now, more than ever, he could not afford a single misstep.
***—***
Malbonte met Plague and War outside the Metis bar, determined to be present when Plague confronted the demon. Vicky's intelligence on Mammon's whereabouts had proven accurate, and Malbonte wasn't about to leave anything to chance. He had no idea how this encounter would unfold or what the Order intended with this setup. He wanted to be on hand to control the narrative as needed to protect Vicky's cover.
During the war with Shepha, Malbonte had attempted to recruit Mammon, admiring the demon's devil-may-care attitude and straightforward nature. But Mammon had refused to switch allegiances and ultimately fell in battle at Malbonte's hand. For the past ten years he'd spent with Vicky, Mammon's daughter, Mimi, had harbored a grudge against him, never forgiving him for her father's death. Now, with recent events, she would likely feel even more justified in her dislike and distrust of him.
Plague and War arrived at the bar, their faces glowing with satisfaction from the destruction they had wrought in the Citadel. Malbonte had heard the chaos: the sounds of buildings collapsing and the terrified cries of fleeing immortals. Everything he and Vicky had worked for now lay in ruins. Yet he felt no sorrow for the devastation, no compassion for the immortals he had once ruled. That part of his life was over—a closed chapter.
They entered the bar and immediately spotted Mammon. Plague seated herself in front of the demon and attempted to persuade him to join their camp and spread chaos among mortals. But Mammon refused outright. Then, to the shock of the Horsemen, he suddenly stabbed himself with a knife and slumped forward.
Malbonte reacted instantly, sending a stream of dark energy at Mammon—a move so swift that it left the demon's chest smoking. Plague turned to him, surprised. "Just in case," he said evenly.
Plague accepted this with a nod. "We don't want him conveniently waking up after we leave." She understood that immortals could only truly die with a genuine intent to kill—a rule that even applied to suicide. Many immortals who attempted to end their lives failed because, deep down, they lacked the true will to die. Plague assumed Malbonte had ensured Mammon remained dead, but the reality was far more complicated.
Malbonte did not believe for a moment that Mammon had intended to die or had been hiding in the Citadel all this time. The Order had orchestrated this ruse to convince Plague that Mammon was truly eliminated—possibly to reduce her leverage over Mimi. Malbonte's strike against Mammon had been powerful, but it lacked the intent to kill. He had no desire to end Mammon's life; his goal was to uphold the illusion and prevent Plague from investigating further or suspecting Vicky's involvement in the plan.
Despite his efforts, Plague was already voicing her confusion, muttering about how she hadn't sensed any intent for self-destruction in Mammon's mind before he acted. To her knowledge, no other immortal had managed to hide their thoughts from her, and Mammon was certainly not on Malbonte's level in terms of mental discipline or power.
The Stone of Secrets' protection had worked in Mammon's favor, but it came with its own challenges. Simply hiding one's thoughts wasn't enough; a convincing narrative was also essential. Malbonte excelled at this craft, even without the aid of the stone. Within the Order, only Fencio had mastered this art to perfection, honed over years of deceiving everyone about his true allegiance to Malbonte long before the war with Shepha. The other Order members embedded in Plague's camp, even Dino and Lucifer, were not always flawless.
Malbonte suspected that Plague would eventually catch on to the fact that some immortals had successfully concealed parts of their minds from her. When that revelation came, it would only be a matter of time before she uncovered the existence of the Order. And when that happened, Vicky would be directly in the line of fire. The stakes were rising, and he couldn't afford any missteps—not with Vicky's life at risk. The memory of nearly catching her snooping in Plague's office a few days ago still burned fresh in his mind. For now, all he could do was remain vigilant, anticipate every threat, and stay one step ahead of the Horsemen.
***—***
As a "reward" for Vicky's accurate information about Mammon, Plague had ordered her and Malbonte to travel to the capital and publicly pledge their support to the Horsemen, urging the citizens to submit.
But, of course, Plague wasn't done playing her cruel games. She had ensured Mimi's presence when she announced that Vicky's information had led directly to Mammon's discovery and suicide. The demoness had been inconsolable, her grief raw and gut-wrenching, and Lucifer had to lead her away. Vicky was left reeling, devastated not only by Mammon's fate but also by the anguish she had inflicted on Mimi. The weight of betrayal pressed heavily on her.
It was no surprise, then, when Malbonte found Vicky waiting for him at the gate the next morning looking utterly desolate. Her hair was tied back in a careless knot, and she wore the same outfit as the day before, rumpled as if she'd slept in it.
"Are you going like that?" he asked, his voice cool but betraying a flicker of concern.
"We're in a hurry, aren't we?" Vicky replied, her tone resigned.
Malbonte shot her another dissatisfied glance but didn't press the issue. Without a word, he launched into the sky, and Vicky followed. Malbonte slowed to match her pace, and they flew in silence for some time. He noticed her gaze drift longingly toward the horizon several times, and it wasn't hard to discern what was on her mind.
"Don't even think about it," he warned, his voice sharp with authority.
"Did you read my mind?" she challenged, a spark of defiance flaring in her eyes.
"I can't anymore," he replied curtly.
Her brows knitted together. "What does that mean?"
He didn't bother to explain. Instead, he nodded toward the gathering below. "We're almost there. Let's go down."
They descended into the central square, where a crowd of immortals had gathered, forewarned of their arrival. The atmosphere was thick with unease. The reverence and cheers that had once greeted them as co-rulers were gone. Now, the crowd's silence was heavy, watchful, and tense.
Malbonte's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "Rulers change, and that's normal. You must bow your heads to the Horsemen now. Don't be foolish if you don't want to feel the force of their wrath… and mine."
He could sense the crowd's simmering anger, the barely restrained hostility beneath their outward calm. The city had been decimated, and now their former leaders metaphorically stood beside their destroyers. Tension crackled in the air, a storm waiting for the smallest spark to set it off.
Which was why he found himself growing increasingly irritated during Vicky's part of the speech. Outwardly, she spoke the correct words, but her tone was defiant, her demeanor betraying her true feelings. Her biting inflection made it unmistakable that she harbored no allegiance to the Horsemen. As they descended the stairs, a deathly silence followed, the crowd's unrest palpable, a fragile calm ready to shatter.
Malbonte led Vicky down the ruined pathways of the Citadel, debris crunching underfoot.
"Where are we going?" Vicky asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"If you're asking about an ultimate destination, there isn't one," he replied.
"We left so quickly," she murmured, glancing back at the crowd.
"If we had stayed longer, a riot would've broken out," he said, his eyes scanning their surroundings. "They only looked weak-willed."
Vicky sighed, each step seeming to sap more of her strength. "I barely feel any energy in these shackles…" She hesitated, then added, almost accusingly, "I didn't think you would be afraid of a riot. You could destroy them all in one fell swoop."
Malbonte's mouth tightened into a thin line. "That's right," he replied, his voice dry and laced with bitter irony. He had never craved endless blood and death, even at the height of his vendetta against Shepha, though he had been ruthless in crushing his enemies. Vicky knew that—or at least, she had known it once. But now, as he stood by and watched the Horsemen's rampage, he could hardly blame her for thinking he would act the same way. He knew how her moral compass worked. She likely counted all the immortals—including herself—culpable for letting the Horsemen's atrocities go unchallenged.
On impulse, Malbonte pulled Vicky into a secluded side alley, away from stragglers and Plague's ever-present puppets. The shadows swallowed them, but he kept his grip firm on her shoulders, pressing her back against the cold, uneven stone of the wall.
"Hey!" Vicky protested, her voice sharp with irritation.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Vicky's eyes closed tightly, defiance still simmering beneath her weariness. Malbonte's grip tightened, his tone growing more insistent. "Look at me."
She hesitated, her resistance crumbling under the weight of his authority. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a fearful yet defiant stare. Malbonte slid into her mind gently, a far cry from the urgent intrusion back in Plague's office. His search was careful, methodical, sifting through her memories with all the precision of someone handling a fragile artifact.
Vicky's initial fear began to dissipate, replaced by a nervous expectancy. Malbonte searched for any gaps or traces of manipulation, anything that might have left a clue about her connection to the Order. But Fencio had done an impeccable job—there were no visible fractures in her memories.
Then, unexpectedly, Vicky's thoughts spilled into his awareness. I know the taste of those lips, so sensual, so tender and rough. The last time we kissed… how did I not know it would never happen again? Her eyelashes fluttered. Won't it happen again?
Malbonte pulled away, stunned. Her desire still burned for him, despite everything. It squeezed his heart with a painful longing. Vicky blushed red with the realization that he'd read her thoughts. Being near her, yet so distant emotionally, had been its own form of torment. Knowing she still cherished memories of their shared intimacy was a sweet torture he hadn't anticipated.
Shaking himself from the spell, he said, "They did a great job on you," his voice carefully neutral.
Vicky looked confused. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
Malbonte's expression remained unreadable. "I wanted to check something," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. "To make sure."
"Can you fill me in on the details?" she pressed, her confusion deepening.
"Not my job," he said curtly.
Vicky frowned, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. Malbonte realized that her thoughts were closed off to him again. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"Can't you read me?" she countered, suspicion lacing her voice.
"Some of your thoughts are closed to me now," he admitted.
Vicky opened her mouth, as if about to demand an explanation, but his intense, searching gaze silenced her. She froze, her resolve faltering under his scrutiny.
"And yet," he continued, "I heard your thoughts about my lips."
Vicky's eyes widened. She blushed again and stammered, "It's not like that… I…"
Malbonte's next words spilled out before he could stop them, betraying the yearning he kept hidden. "Do you miss me?" As I miss you… was the unspoken addendum.
Vicky's face fell, suspicion darkening her features as to his motive. The hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. "Don't do this," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Don't do what?" he asked, his tone gentler but still probing.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you need something from me?" she asked, as if bracing for another blow. The question tightened something deep in Malbonte's chest.
Malbonte paused, conflicted, his emotions warring within him. He took a step back, considering retreat. But then, in a moment of weakness, he changed his mind. Why not? He reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face upward with tenderness. His gaze roamed over her features, drinking in every detail—the wide green eyes that had once looked at him with trust, the delicate slope of her nose, and those soft, kissable lips he had memorized long ago.
Her breath quickened. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice unsteady.
"I want to test a theory," he murmured, his words barely audible. If their connection was hidden by the Stone of Secrets, perhaps he could afford to be more open with her. Wasn't that the reason he had insisted she have her own room at the Academy, away from friends and prying eyes? Slowly, he leaned closer, his lips parting slightly, leaving the choice in her hands.
Vicky trembled, the air between them thickening with tension like storm clouds gathering before a lightning strike. Slowly, she tilted her head up, and Malbonte immediately closed the gap, capturing her lips in a rough, unceremonious kiss. It was desperate and hungry, a culmination of passion born from months of repressed desire.
Vicky slumped against the wall, shivering at the feel of the cold, damp stones behind her. Malbonte slid his hand between her back and the wall, shielding her from the chill. He felt the heat radiating from his body seeping into hers, a welcome warmth against the dampness that her power-suppressing shackles had rendered inescapable.
He bit her lower lip, then licked the spot, savoring the silky feel of her mouth. Her tongue met his, flowing like honey against his own. Her aura enveloped him, and when she moaned softly, heat surged through his body. She began to pull back, embarrassed, but he followed her movement, unwilling to let her lips go. Taking her hands, he guided them around his neck, drawing her even closer. She slid them up and threaded her fingers through his hair, just as she used to. Her surrender was intoxicating.
Malbonte tightened his grip on her waist, fighting the urge to press his leg between her thighs and let her ride him into oblivion. Her rapid heartbeat thudded against his own, matching his tempo as they fell into a long-practiced rhythm—lips, tongue, and teeth entwined in fervent connection.
With effort, he finally pulled back, raising his head to look into her eyes. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, and her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Their eyes met, and he saw a mixture of longing and vulnerability in her expression. Her hands, still entwined in his hair, slid down to rest on his shoulders as she searched his gaze for answers.
"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Malbonte didn't respond immediately. He slipped into her mind once more. Their kiss wasn't hidden by the Stone—every intimate detail remained perfectly visible to anyone who wished to see. The disappointment was excruciating. He watched regret wash over her features as he stepped back, keeping his voice flat as he said, "Plague can see our kiss if she wants."
"Of course she can," Vicky replied bitterly. "She sees everything."
Malbonte chuckled. "Not everything…" He hoped she would grasp the hint: some of her memories were safe from Plague's scrutiny. It should give her some relief.
He watched her try to piece it together, though her thoughts remained closed. His gaze lingered on her lips, the urge to kiss her again nearly overwhelming. This wasn't prudent. If Plague saw too many intimate moments in Vicky's memories, his paper-thin pretense of detachment would crumble.
"We have to go," he said, his voice deliberately dismissive. He turned and walked away, hoping that even if Plague saw their kiss, she would interpret only cold detachment on his part.
Vicky didn't immediately follow. He felt her anger surge, raw and intense, as her thoughts spilled over. He kissed me just to see which parts of my memories were visible to him. He trusted me, believed in me… but never opened his heart to me. Her emotions boiled over, a crescendo of frustration and hurt. Malbonte doesn't have human feelings. Everything is calculated. He's too cruel to succumb to emotion.
Malbonte halted abruptly, her thoughts an unexpected dagger to his heart.
Did he read my mind? she wondered. He wasn't even looking at me…
Malbonte turned and met her eyes. "I felt your energy."
"But how do you—"
"Do you think I haven't gotten to know you over the years we were together?" he interrupted. His implication—that she hadn't gotten to know him in return—was intentional. "I don't need to read your mind to know what you're thinking. Let's go."
He resumed walking, checking only once to see if she was following.
Their journey back to the Academy was silent, thick with unspoken tension and unvoiced regrets. Malbonte glanced at Vicky from the corner of his eye. Did she truly think so little of him, or had he made himself so unapproachable that she couldn't see past his defenses?
His rational mind told him she had lashed out in anger, her words driven by hurt and confusion. After all, what else could she think? He had kissed her—a kiss laced with heat and passion—and then pulled away without offering any explanation. It had been a lapse of his strict self-discipline; a rare moment where longing had overpowered reason.
When Vicky had graduated from the Academy and moved in with him at the Citadel, they had rarely been apart initially, and every reunion was filled with passion and tenderness. Yet, over time, he had to acknowledge that he had withdrawn more and more, consumed by his search for answers and the relentless torment of Shephamalum's insidious whispers. He had unconsciously relied on their bond to keep the flame of their relationship burning, underestimating the damage his silence and emotional distance had inflicted on her trust. Was it any wonder that she was reinterpreting their past relationship through the lens of his current choices?
When they reached the Academy, Malbonte turned and walked away from Vicky without another word. Deep down, he knew that if Vicky truly understood his ultimate goals, she wouldn't come near him. So, what was he doing giving them both false hope? It was safer for her to think of him as a heartless monster, like the rest of the immortal world did, and for him to bury this lapse before it cost them both everything. Vicky had the Order behind her and the Stone to protect her secrets. He would withdraw his constant watchfulness and focus on his goals. Keeping his distance was the only way to ensure her safety and guarantee the ultimate success of his plans.
***—***